


Easy love.

by captnalbatr0ss



Series: The Captain and his Quartermaster [23]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 01:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7993003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captnalbatr0ss/pseuds/captnalbatr0ss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling in love is hard. ...Isn't it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy love.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr Request — "I would die for something written by you about Sam proposing to Rafe. Not in a sappy and traditional kind of way, but more in a Samuel Drake kind of way, y'know what I mean?"

* * *

 Rafe was cold. And tired. And he should’ve been home over an hour ago.

He’d been all day in town, in a small and musty office with a moderately pleasant woman, the town historian. He’d met with her at Sam’s request—they were interested in putting some money into a few of the local historical sites, for restoration. Rejuvenation. 

Red tape, technicalities, always a thorn in Rafe’s side, and something he was unused to. His money was usually enough to bypass roadblocks, but he’d learned in the past year that small towns often take great pride in holding fast to that red tape, money or not.

Normally, Rafe would’ve walked. Perhaps flung a few pointed words, and stormed out. But there was something about the woman he liked—small, a bit round, fluffy gray hair piled on top of her head in something that likely once resembled a bun. She had a stern mouth, but behind her outdated spectacles, her eyes were kind.

Feisty. She was unafraid of Rafe and his austere posturing, and so he’d finally given in, planted himself in the worn chair in front of her desk, and gotten to work. 

Calls to the bank, to move money around. 

Calls to his lawyers, requesting a new draft of their contract. 

Texts to Sam, about totals, about the clause regarding the promise of future exhibits, questions on exactly how far along Sam was with the list of items they’d donate, what the theme of their exhibit would be.  

> _Would’ve been a lot fucking easier if you’d just come with me, Samuel_ _._
> 
> _i had to stay & work on that list, i’m making progress babe_
> 
> _Like hell, you are. You’re on the sofa right now, aren’t you?_ _  
> _
> 
> _..._
> 
> _Samuel get off of the fucking sofa and finish the goddamn list. I’ve been here all day, and I’ve done absolutely everything I can without you. We need that list, because it has to go into the contract, and without the contract, I have nothing for her to sign, and if there’s nothing for her to sign—_
> 
> _i promise i’ll do the list soon_
> 
> _What do you mean, DO the list soon? Don’t tell me you haven’t started the list. And STOP texting me back before I—_
> 
> _you gonna get food on the way home?_
> 
> _No. I’m not. I’m already running late, and I’m tired, and I swear to god if you text me one more time before I have the chance to—_
> 
> _if you tell me what to get, i can go to the store_
> 
> _What the fuck, Sam. I hope you starve._
> 
> _i love you too_
> 
> _Eat shit, Drake. Forget the list. I’LL make the fucking list._
> 
> _rafe it’s not a big deal, i can do it. i just didn’t know she needed it TODAY. don’t be mad, i’m sorry_
> 
> _Forget it._

And he’d gotten nowhere, and it was a fucking embarrassment to explain the hold up, to request another meeting. Scrolling through the calendar on his phone, coordinating schedules, having to move things around, and his frustration built. Steadily. Rapidly.

Rafe knew he was being dramatic when he slammed the front door, but he was so  _fucking_  mad, and Sam had been so fucking  _impossible_ —

Sam was dozing on the couch— _still on the motherfucking couch_ —the front door blocked from view, but he woke up at the sharp sound of the door slamming, sat up at the sound of footsteps, stretching.

“Babe? That you?” Sam stood, turned toward the sound, his eyes eventually finding their way to Rafe.

“What do  _you_  think?” Rafe spat, rolling his eyes and brushing angrily past Sam.

“C’mon, you’re not still made about—”

Rafe whirled around when Sam dropped a hand to his shoulder.

“Okay… You’re still mad.” Sam frowned, surprised.

They’d argued on the phone hours ago—via text. Over what seemed to Sam like next to nothing. He knew he’d upset Rafe—still, he was surprised to see that it hadn’t blown over already.

“Rafe, it’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is to me. For whatever  _that’s_  worth. A fucking embarrassment”

“Don’t do that, come on. Don’t make it sound like I don’t care, just ‘cause I don’t  _get_  it. It’s not like that, but you gotta talk to me. Help me understand.”

“What the fuck did you think I was trying to do, Samuel? We  _were_  talking. But you sure as hell weren’t  _listening_. Besides, I asked you for that list weeks ago.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I said I was sorry. I didn’t realize it was in a big hurry, I didn’t know it was gonna be part of the initial contract. I’ve been thinking about it, I guess I just...” He frowned, shrugged. “I just didn’t think—”

“Clearly.”

“Hey. C’mon. What do I gotta do here, Rafe? What do you want me to say?”

Sam’s grip on Rafe’s shoulder tightened, and he held on until Rafe met his eyes. He frowned at what he saw there—the anger, yes, but also a weary sort of resignation. Bordering on defeat.

“This  _always_  happens, Sam. We try to do something, together. A project, a dig, hell our fucking  _dates_  go wrong half the time. What are we even doing? Maybe —” Rafe sighed, clenching, unclenching his fists. “Maybe this isn’t working—”

“No, don’t even say that. Stuff goes wrong because I’m shit for remembering things, and because you’ve got a crazy schedule, or whatever other bullshit thing that hangs us up, but that’s not important.” 

Rafe’s temper flared. “Not important? You think it’s not—”

“Okay, okay. Poor choice of words. I don’t mean it’s not  _important_. I just mean, it’s… it doesn’t mean we’re not okay. It doesn’t mean we don’t love each other. It just means…” He lifted a shoulder, offered a small smile. “It just means we get our wires crossed sometimes. It’s just a little thing to fix. But it’ll fix, and it’ll be fine. Right? And hey, maybe we can just do the list together. Might be fun, a chance to reminisce over old finds, eh?”

Sam was used to little fights, disagreements, even yelling. Rafe had a short temper, and Sam seemed to have a special talent for pressing his buttons on those bad days, irritating Rafe even when he didn’t mean to. But it didn’t usually last, and Sam had become something of an expert at gently flirting his way out of the doghouse.

“You don’t just get to smile at me like that’s supposed to solve everything, Samuel.”

“Aw, don’t be like that, baby—”

“ _Don’t_. Not now, I’m in no mood.” Rafe shrugged Sam’s hand off, stalking away.

Sam watched him go, shaking his head. He knew when Rafe was like this, it was best to give him some time to cool down before seeking him out. He returned to the couch, to his book, picking up where he’d left off.

_A'right, looks like I’ll have to work on getting out of the doghouse **later** …_

Rafe retreated to their bedroom. He slammed that door, too. On principal.

_Fuck._

Rafe paced the room, counting backwards from ten—only he kept getting distracted halfway through, and so finally he gave up, changed out of his suit, into a plain tee and a pair of lounge pants, sprawling out on the bed.

Rafe had been stewing for hours, but even though he knew what had made him mad, deep down, he struggled to remember exactly what had really set him off, amped the irritation up to “ _I hope you starve_ ” and “ _eat shit_ ”.

 _Was it the list? Or the fact that he couldn’t be bothered to come with me to the goddamn meeting?—_ _Fuck—_ _Annoying, yes, but he’s right, we could do it together, and maybe I—_

**_Don’t pretend like you don’t know._ **

_Fuck._

_It’s not the list, or the meeting, it’s not Sam._

_It’s me._

Rafe rolled onto his stomach, pressed his face into his pillow and groaned. The anger was evolving into self loathing, but it was no less intense.

_Why do I do this?_

He rolled onto his side, curled up, did his best to make himself as small as he felt.

**_You know why._ **

_Stupid, stupid, stupid—_

Sam always shouldered the weight of Rafe’s temper, with rarely a complaint. Rafe knew it didn’t take much to set him off, and he knew that Sam spent a lot of time walking on eggshells, for Rafe’s sake, and for his own— _self-preservation_ , Rafe thought.  _Fight or flight._

_I always fight._

It was a tactic that, in the past, had kept Rafe out of dead-end relationships.

_Every relationship is a dead-end relationship, if you’re out to shut it down from the beginning—_

_Fuck. Shut up—_

It was something he used to chase people away. Something that, until Sam, had always successfully pushed people out of his life.

He’d meant it to work on Sam, too. 

Because falling in love was unnerving—it wasn’t something that Rafe had intended to do, it wasn’t a part of his plan. As soon as he’d realized what was happening, he had made a concentrated effort to try harder, to  _push_  harder. But it only seemed to draw Sam in, bring him closer.

It had been alarming. Unbelievable.  _Incredible. Exhilarating._

And then, one night, on a vacation of sorts, at a cabin in Aspen, beneath the warm weight of Sam’s body, with Sam’s lips to his ear, he’d heard it for the first time—“I love you.” And then, moments after, “ _I’m in love_  with you.”

 _No_ , Rafe had thought,  _that can’t be. I’ve done everything I know to shut you out, everything—_

Except somewhere along the way, that had stopped being true, and even Rafe had known it.

 _You’re wrong,_  Rafe had thought. And,  _that’s horseshit_. And  _you can’t love me, you can’t be in love with me, not if you knew—not if you really knew **me** —_

But he’d said none of those things, despite his intentions, because while rationale and self loathing argued within him, his heart cried out, and when he opened his mouth, he heard, “Sam—” and he heard, “I’m in love with you, too.”

And even Sam didn’t know how much he’d cried that night, after Sam had held him close and fucked him slow, deep. 

While Sam slept, Rafe had slipped out of bed, drawn himself a bath, drank until the tears died out, because falling in love—being in love with Sam, it meant  _letting go_  of something. It meant handing over a piece of himself, or maybe his whole self, to Sam. Because he’d known even before he’d admitted it to himself that he wasn’t whole without Sam anymore.

And needing someone felt an awful lot like  _weakness_.

 _It’s only a matter of time,_  Rafe thought now, the same as he had then—alone in their bedroom, conflicted over his feelings about a stupid fucking argument via fucking text messages. Nothing that warranted this harsh a response. Nothing that was worth the  _fight_.

_It’s only a matter of time before it finally works, because I don’t even know how to stop fighting anymore, I’ve done it so long. And I’ll break whatever spell this is, and Sam will understand why he can’t love me. And once he does, he’ll leave. Because unconditional love is a fucking lie, and it’s only a matter of time—_

Rafe’s train of thought was disturbed by a soft knock on the door.

“Babe, I know you’re still pissed, but I’m running to the store. Something you want me to pick up to make, or I can grab us something on the way home?”

_Sam._

Rafe closed his eyes, curled up tighter. He wanted to snap, an instinct. He tasted the words on his tongue—

_Go away._

—but they were bitter and he swallowed them back instead. Remained silent.

“Rafe?”

_Go away, Sam._

Rafe heard the door creak open, saw Sam poke his head in, and he sighed, suddenly too tired to argue.

“Hey.” Sam furrowed his brow, pushed the door open the rest of the way.

“C’mon, this isn’t just about earlier, is it?”

Rafe frowned.  _No_ , he wanted to say. But then Sam would ask questions, and Rafe wasn’t sure he was ready to answer them. He opted for avoidance, turned his back to Sam.

“The silent treatment, huh? Hm, that really takes me back.” Sam sauntered toward the bed, flopped down next to Rafe, immediately reaching for him.

“Stop it.” Rafe shifted again, staying just out of reach.

“He speaks!”

“Goddamnit, Sam, would you just—”

“If you’re about to tell me to go away, don’t bother, ‘cause I’m not gonna.” Sam leaned forward just enough, managed to throw and arm over Rafe’s hips, pulling him back, drawing Rafe into his arms. “I know you, and I know there’s something you’re not telling me, and I know it’s eatin’ you up, and that’s not okay by me because I love you, even when you’re pissed at me. So talk, or cuddle. Or both. But I’m not leaving.”

Sam tightened his grip on Rafe, held on even though Rafe’s body practically vibrated with tension—Sam could tell he was fighting to  _keep_  it, to keep from relaxing.

“Baby…” Sam pressed a kiss to Rafe’s shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“Why are you still here?” Rafe’s voice was soft, Sam almost didn’t hear him.

“What?”

“After everything I’ve done, why?”

“Because I love you.”

“That’s not possible.” Rafe tightened his jaw.

He’d always felt it to be true, thought himself unlovable, at least in the traditional sense of the word. But he’d never voiced it, and it sounded strange to say, and more unsure on his tongue than it felt in his heart.

“Rafe—”

“No. I mean it. You  _can’t_. I’ve done…I’ve done everything to make sure that you can’t—that I don’t—” Rafe shook his head, at a loss. “I don’t understand why you haven’t left.”

“Look at me—” 

Sam waited, eyes boring holes into the back of Rafe’s head until the smaller man finally gave in, rolled to face Sam. 

“I’m not fucking around here, Rafe. You keep talkin’ like I don’t  _know_  you, like you think you’re being subtle when you pick fights and all that shit, but I see it. I know what you’re trying to do, and baby, it won’t work.”

Rafe opened his mouth, but no words came. He dug deep, searched desperately for a rebuttal, but could find none.

“I love you.  _I love you_ , you hear me? So here’s how it goes. I’m not going anywhere, not over some stupid fight, not over any of the bullshit. I’m here, and I’m staying, unless you can look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t in love with me, tell me you want me gone, that you never wanna see me again. Can you do that? I mean, is that really what you want?”

Rafe swallowed the lump in his throat.  _That’s all it takes? That’s so **easy**._

He repeated the words in his head— 

_I don’t love you. I’m not in love with you._

_Get out._

_Don’t come back. I don’t want you._

A few simple words, and things could go back to normal—the safety of solitude. A life in focus, without distraction. Without the fear of falling. His relationship with Sam left him with a low-burn anxiety; how long would it last? How damaged would he be when Sam finally left? For years, anxious, and wouldn’t it be easier to carve that out, to give it up before it could collapse, could crush? A few words between a life  _with_ , and a life  _without_ —

_Without Sam._

Rafe blinked, hard. All those thoughts crashing, colliding. Chaos. Confusion. His face felt hot, his body cold. His heart lurched painfully. Impending panic, and dread, because—

_Life without Sam._

_What would be the point?_

Had there ever been a direction before? Had solitude been pleasant, or just predictable? Was it really  _safe_ , or was he just numb then? And didn’t Sam know exactly how to reel him back in when his focus blurred—

 _No_ , he thought.  _That’s not really what I want._  And then, “Please—?”

“Tell me.”

Rafe blinked again, his eyes searching Sam’s, lost. “What?”

“I wanna hear one thing or the other. I wanna settle this. For both of us. So you gotta tell me— Tell me you want me to stay. Or tell me you want me to go.”

“I want—”

Sam held Rafe’s gaze, his eyes expectant. Rafe searched harder, read every nuance, took in every detail, looking for the lie—but hadn’t it always been a witch hunt? And didn’t he already know the answer?

**_You know he’s telling the truth, don’t you?_ **

_Yes. I do._

“I want you to stay.”

A weight lifted then, and Rafe trembled, weak from carrying it for so long. 

He closed his eyes, and when Sam kissed him, filling each gap between their lips with low whispers— _“I’ll stay, sweetheart, of course I’ll stay. Rafe. I love you.”_ —he did what he could to kiss back. And he did what he could to believe.

“Stay,” Rafe whispered again as Sam kissed his forehead. “Don’t ever go.”

It was hard to say—hard to ask. Not something he was used to, not something he was comfortable with. But, gathered up in Sam’s arms and  _so close_ , it hurt more to hold it in.

“I promise.” Sam rolled onto his back, pulled Rafe with him.

They fell asleep with the light on, with Sam still in his clothes, and Rafe had never slept better.

* * *

 He woke to Sam nuzzling against him, trailing kisses from Rafe’s chest up until his lips pressed against Rafe’s. Chaste, sweet, brief. And then Sam pulled away.

“Mornin’.”

“Mm.” Rafe turned with Sam as he moved away, insisting on staying close.

“Get up. I wanna take you to breakfast.” Sam grinned.

Rafe opened his eyes, surprised to find Sam already showered, dressed for the day, rather than in rumpled clothes from yesterday. 

“How long have you been up?”

“Not long. Half hour.”

Rafe stood, stretched, headed toward the bathroom. He paused in front of Sam, eyeing him for a moment.

Sam raised a brow, flashed a painfully charming smile. “What?”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, he shrugged, shook his head. “Nothing.”

He left Sam standing—and a bit perplexed—and he disappeared into the bathroom, washing quickly in the shower, lost in thought.

_Sam._

Something felt different, something felt… _easier_. 

Rafe considered it as he stood under the spray, thinking back on the night before, on the things they’d said.

 _That has to be it,_ he decided. _But can it really be that simple?_

“Ay, Rafe?”

“What.”

Sam let himself into the bathroom as Rafe was stepping out of the shower.

“Mm.” Sam allowed himself a moment to eye Rafe possessively. “Mmhm. Okay. Ah, I was…” He shook his head, laughed. “Damn. I’m gonna go start the car. Hey, it’s chilly out—so. Grab a, ah…”

Sam trailed off, wet his lips as he let his gaze roam over the oh-so-familiar map of Rafe’s body.

“A jacket?”

“What’s that?” Sam blinked, quickly finding his way back to Rafe’s face. “Oh. Right, yeah. Yes. A jacket. And I’m just gonna…” Sam laughed again. “Ah, fuck me, I’ll be outside. Whenever you’re ready.”

Sam turned to go, and Rafe took a step toward him.

“Sam—”

The expression on Sam’s face when he looked back set butterflies loose in Rafe’s stomach, and the sensation surprised him. Sam looked—

_Giddy. And smitten. And—_

“Yeah?”

_It really is that simple—_

Rafe grinned. “Nothing. I’ll just be a minute.”

* * *

 Twenty minutes later, they were in the car. Sam was right, the weather was cool, the wind had a bite to it, and Rafe was glad of his jacket.

It was well into fall in Maine, where they’d bought a house together nearly a year ago—a move prompted by a late night conversation about wanting to get out of the city. Rafe still had his place in Manhattan, but they’d been ready for something more.

 _Something more_ turned out to be an oceanfront Dutch Colonial in York, nestled on a two-acre plot. Rafe had forked over a cool $4mil for the place, and another million in renovations, upgrades, everything necessary to make it feel like  _Rafe_.

Sam didn’t care what Rafe did to the inside, he spent most of his time on the porch, his heart at sea. 

And on temperate nights, they slept with their bedroom windows open, and the door from their room to the deck, carried to sleep by the sound of the ocean.

He was happy. He didn’t think he’d ever been so fucking happy.

He kept a hand on Rafe’s knee as they drove, shooting Rafe a grin when he felt him tangle their fingers.

Rafe was talking— _the list_. Potential pieces to include. His phone in his hand, making notes.

“Sam, we need to decide on a theme. I know you’re going to say pirates, but I think we should start with something more directly relevant to the town’s history. It’ll tie in nicely with the unveiling of the restoration project.”

“Whatever you think, baby.”

Rafe glanced at Sam. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

Sam chuckled. “A’right. Ah, when’s the unveiling?”

Rafe raised a brow, unimpressed. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“Sam. We can’t set a date for the unveiling without a contract. Remember? No list, no contract, no contract, no unveiling. So the list is first, and I swear to god, I’ll kick your ass if it’s not ready by the next meeting.”

“Which is…?”

“Next month. The third.”

“Right, right. Sorry. Okay, so something—” He paused, gave Rafe’s hand a squeeze. “Ah, hold that thought, baby, we’re here.”

Sam slowed the car, pulled into a parking spot along the sidewalk, and Rafe peered out, expecting to see—

Not what he saw.

_What._

“Sam?”

Rafe turned to look at Sam, brows knit, confusion written plainly on his face. But Sam just smiled, slipped out of the car and walked to Rafe’s side, opening the door for him, holding out his hand.

“Sam…”

Rafe let Sam help him out, let Sam shut the door for him, and he leaned back against the car, watching Sam carefully. 

“You can go ahead and put that away, yeah? The list can wait.” Sam gently plucked Rafe’s phone from his hand, tucked it playfully in Rafe’s back pocket.

Rafe found Sam’s eyes, searching, and even though the breeze was cool, he felt warm all over.

“Why are we here?”

“You tell me.”

Rafe glanced over Sam’s shoulder, up the brick walkway, and finally to the front door of the Courthouse. “Well, it’s a historical landmark, but it’s hardly in need of restoration—”

Sam was moving closer, Rafe felt the easy press of Sam’s body against his, and it sent a rush of blood to his head. Sam was watching him, and there was something in his eyes that Rafe had never seen before.

 _That’s strange,_  he thought. And then—

_Wait. Wait, it can’t be—_

_…Can it?_

His throat felt suddenly dry. “—you can’t be serious.”

“Says who?” Sam leaned forward, as if for a kiss, but he stopped just shy of Rafe’s lips. “Marry me.”

Rafe felt something like a short in his circuitry, like a switch had been tripped. Electricity. His mind was buzzing.

“You—you said what?”

Sam closed the distance, pressed his lips to Rafe’s, held them there—light, soft. One hand on Rafe’s hip, the other cupping the back of his head, and he whispered— “Will you?”

_Can it really be that simple?_

_Can it really—_

“Yes.”

Sam’s fingers tightened on Rafe, both on his hip and in his hair, and Sam squeezed his eyes shut, savoring the feel of the word against his skin, passed from Rafe’s lips to his own. “Rafe…”

“Sam— _yes,_ ” Rafe said again, and laughed— _laughed_. He felt light, weightless, warm.

“Mm,” Sam sighed. “That’s really good to hear.”

“It’s just a word,” Rafe teased, but he was smiling.

“I wasn’t talking about the word.” Sam tipped Rafe’s head back with a finger under his chin, let them trace along Rafe’s jaw. “I could listen to you laugh for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

Rafe raised a brow, combating the rush of heat to his cheeks by offering a wry grin. “Isn’t that what we just agreed to?”

“I better get you in there before you change your mind, eh?”

“I think you’d better.”

* * *

 It was just a matter of paperwork. It felt much like any other business deal to Rafe, but then—why wouldn’t it? A contract. Legal, binding, black and white.

_Easy._

And that was familiar enough, words on a page, and signatures, and it was all so goddamn  _comfortable_. Rafe was amazed—he’d expected to feel…

Overwhelmed.

And he did, in a way, but not as he’d anticipated. Marriage—weddings, they’d always seemed like so much. Guest lists, gifts, invitations, and bullshit. Crowds.

But this—this was safe. This was what Rafe knew, and the familiarity of black ink on white paper allowed him the luxury of focusing on what it  _meant_ , focusing on—

_Sam._

Sam, who kept watching Rafe so fondly, a smile so wide it had to be painful, and it was all so endearing.

When they left, it felt a lot like floating, and Rafe hardly noticed the ground beneath his feet with Sam’s arm around him.

Once outside, Rafe headed for the car, but Sam tugged him back.

“Where d’you think you’re going?”

Rafe raised both brows in question. “There’s  _more_?”

Sam tugged Rafe close again, steered him back toward the sidewalk. “I said I wanted to take you to breakfast, didn’t I? I’m thinkin’ pancakes.”


End file.
